


Ciri is in this one

by taylor_tut



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Ciri is soft and sweet, Ear infection, Family Fluff, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Sickfic, Very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A prompt from my tumblr for Jaskier with an ear infection. Ciri is soft and both of them do whatever she says, so when she says that Jaskier needs to rest, they rest
Comments: 6
Kudos: 203





	Ciri is in this one

Jaskier hated to see Ciri worry. 

It was just a cold, really, but no matter how many times he and Geralt told her that, the line of worry never left her face, and Jaskier couldn’t stand to see it. He hated that he had caused it. 

Trying to hide it only made things worse, really, because she could tell. 

“She’s a child, Jaskier, not an idiot,” Geralt had scolded after he’d been caught with his face turning bright red trying to silently restrain a fit of coughing. “She’ll be a lot more upset if you keel over from stopping breathing to avoid worrying her.” 

So, instead of trying to suppress every little symptom, Jaskier had taken to overly-reassuring her that he was fine every time he made a sound. He’d wave off her concern and smile at her through hacking coughs and he’d make jokes, ones which he knew were beginning to irritate Geralt, when she woke up to Jaskier tossing and turning, unable to find a position that didn’t irritate his sore ribs and back. 

Traveling with Geralt and Ciri both in the past few months had been interesting, to say the least. Geralt did a better job than Jaskier had expected him to, a better job than Geralt himself feared he was doing, communicating with and caring for a child. She was traumatized beyond belief, and Jaskier and Geralt both did their best to try to mitigate some of the damage she’d sustained, Geralt by keeping her safe, and Jaskier by giving her someone to talk to. She was waiting, Jaskier could tell, for the other shoe to drop, even though she always smiled politely and said, “I know,” when either of them tried to promise her that they wouldn’t leave her; that she’d never be alone again. 

Jaskier’s favorite things were the rare moments she showed her age. Whether it was a little giggle when Jaskier made a big show of Roach having bitten a hole through his sleeve or a shimmer of excitement and nostalgia in her eyes when Jaskier played a song she knew (though he’d yet to find a way to get her to sing along). She was too young to look nostalgic, Jaskier told Geralt. Too young to think that her best years were behind her. 

Geralt told him that things were different for their kind, that they had to grow up fast and hard in order to survive. 

Jaskier told him that was utter shit, and that they could and would give her better than that. 

Geralt never outright agreed, but suddenly, it was in the budget to replace a string on Jaskier’s lute when it broke or to finish dinner with something sweet every now and again when they were near a bakery. 

Finally, Jaskier had a role in Geralt’s life that wasn’t “professional nuisance,” something that Geralt couldn’t deny he needed.

And he felt guilty for screwing it up. 

When Jaskier had turned a corner and started to sound a little better, to gain his appetite back and sleep through the night again three days ago, Ciri had finally begun to relax a bit. He’d been more relieved that Ciri was calming down than about the fact that he was feeling better himself, so when last night, the headache had come back full force and he’d started to feel chilled and weak for the first time, he hadn’t mentioned it. 

Maybe if he could get Geralt alone, he’d ask him about stopping into town for some medicine, but he wasn’t about to bring it up if Ciri might overhear. It wasn’t that important, after all. He’d always gotten complicated colds growing up—ones which would turn into bronchitis or sinus or ear infections just as soon as he started to feel better, and they always got better with a little tea and a little rest. 

He went to bed feeling a little shaky and woke up shivering cold and sweating. Before he could even register it, he was groaning, and apparently Ciri and Geralt had let him sleep in a bit, because they were both up and Ciri was at his side in a heartbeat. 

“Jaskier?” she called, her voice timid and nervous. Geralt was cooking breakfast, but Jaskier knew that although he wouldn’t admit it, he was watching, too, equally worried in his own way. 

“I’m fine,” Jaskier reassured. “Chilly this morning, isn’t it?”

Ciri’s face fell a bit at the obvious lie. “You kicked off all your blankets in your sleep,” she said. “Geralt had to put them back on when you started shivering.” He had a feeling it wasn’t THAT cold, judging by their apparent comfort in nothing more than casual clothes, but Jaskier forced a smile. 

“Sleeping on the cold ground will chill you, I suppose, won’t it?” he tried for casual but landed somewhere closer to desperate. Ciri wasn’t buying it. 

“You look worse than you have,” she said bluntly, and Jaskier made a show, still lying down, of looking offended. 

“That’s a rude thing to say, young lady,” he scolded. 

“Smell worse, too,” Geralt added. He’d been commenting, on and off, about how Jaskier’s scent changed when he was ill, the normal neutral, slightly sweet smell turning muddy and sour. It wasn’t overpowering, he’d insisted, but noticeable. 

Jaskier guffawed. “Well, good morning to you both,” he dodged, wrestling his way out of the blankets that Geralt had apparently packed tightly around him, probably at Ciri’s request. “Always a pleasure to join the conversation—oh,” he trailed off without meaning to when sitting up made everything spin. It wasn’t just the sort of vertigo he got sometimes when he went too long without water or food, but a lasting, whirling sensation that didn’t dissipate no matter how long he clutched his head in one hand. 

“Geralt, what’s wrong with him?” 

Jaskier tried to laugh, but it came out strained. “‘He’ is just a bit dizzy,” Jaskier replied. Were it anyone else speaking, he’d have snapped at them, but never Ciri. “Sat up too fast.”

Geralt scoffed. “If that’s all,” he taunted, “then why not come join us for breakfast?” 

His stomach rolled at the suggestion, both from the dread of moving and the thought of putting something in his already dizzy-sensitive stomach. It always made him nauseated quickly, when this sort of thing happened. 

“Fine,” Jaskier agreed, never one to turn down a challenge, but Ciri swatted at his shoulder. 

“Don’t,” she pleaded. “Just stay lying down. That was better, right?” 

Jaskier waited for Geralt to tell him he was being dramatic, to scold Ciri for coddling him and to give him a deadline for getting up and moving before he’d be left behind. 

None of that happened. Geralt simply waited for his answer, so he had no reason, he supposed, not to be honest. 

“Yes,” he admitted. Ciri helped him lie back on his bedroll and covered him with his blanket, then reached forward and pressed her small palm across his forehead before turning nervous eyes on Geralt. 

“He’s so hot,” she said. In an instant, Geralt was by his side, too, kneeling down and pressing his own hand to Jaskier’s forehead, his cheeks. 

“You are right about that,” he muttered. Ciri sighed. 

“How far is the nearest town? Can he make it to the healer, or should I fetch one and bring them here?” 

Jaskier reached out for her hand and squeezed it when he laughed. 

“Neither,” he argued. “It’s fine.”

“You’re feverish,” Geralt fought. “You weren’t before.” 

“And you can hardly sit up.”

Jaskier might have rolled his eyes if he weren’t afraid that adding that to the spinning sensation in his head might just send him toppling off the face of the earth. 

“It’s just an ear infection,” he dismissed. “I used to get them all the time in the summer as a child, usually after a swim. It’s nothing that won’t go away on its own.”

Geralt’s focus had prickled at the mention of infection, likely because he’d only ever heard it in reference to battle wounds, in which it was almost always a death sentence. 

“And how did your mother treat them?” 

It was unspoken, but he knew that the question was really just a test: if he said that it needed no treatment, Geralt would haul him off to a doctor. 

So again, he was honest.

“Garlic,” he said. “A clove in the ear.”

Ciri’s face scrunched up. “That works?”

Jaskier shrugged. “It didn’t not work.”

It was enough, apparently, because Geralt nodded toward Ciri, who stood at once and gathered three small bags. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she promised, “and with lots of garlic!” 

“Be careful!” Jaskier hollered after her, and when she was finally out of hearing range, Geralt’s face darkened. 

“You’re being truthful with me, right?”

“Of course,” Jaskier replied. 

“Don’t say ‘of course’ as if it’s a given.”

Well, Jaskier had to give him that. “That’s fair,” he admitted, “but I really am. It will pass quickly. It’s just unpleasant.”

“I would imagine, with a fever like yours.” He pressed his hand once more to Jaskier’s cheek, his face set in a stony, unreadable expression. “You’re sure that’s normal?”

Jaskier smiled. “Positive.” 

That, too, seemed to finally satisfy him, because Geralt didn’t press the subject any further. Instead, he merely tucked the blankets around Jaskier tight, as if he were trying to restrain him, and gave his back a bracing pat. 

“Rest, then. I’m sure Ciri will wake you when she returns.”

“What about the beast?”

Geralt shrugged. “Whatever it is, I’m willing to bet it’s far less terrible than the wrath Ciri might unleash if I made you travel in this condition.” 

“I shudder to think,” Jaskier teased. He loved every moment of watching Geralt be bossed around by a very small, very young girl. He let his eyes close and was lulled to sleep by the sound of Geralt softly rummaging through their bags for herbs for tea. 


End file.
